We forget. When we are busy building, dreaming, walking through life so fiercely, the fragility lying underneath the surface. Lying in bed, stripped down in illness, there it sits. Like the sweat of your brow as fever breaks or the weaknesses in your body as nothing else can stay inside you. You can be feeling as if nothing can hold you back. In mere days, you are reminded that everything is a gift. And so, when we forget, the hands of fate show us to treasure it always.
Category: Uncategorized
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Moonlit Sacrifice
I can’t be sacrificed again. Strapped to an altar for your sacrifice. Giving my heart under the moon and stars only to have it carved out of my chest. Running as fast as my feet will go, but slashed at to wound further. Your gift from The Gods themselves, watching from their thrones as you slaughter what was meant to be unconditional. Tears shed from the sacred promise I made, even if you never heard. By the morning light, my cries will be faint, my heart barely beating. When they take me away, you will see who I was. I can’t be sacrificed anymore. And my love can’t be replicated.
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The Art of Water Worship
The act of washing a woman’s hair in the shower is a sensual experience. Moving your hair to one side as he kisses your neck and shoulder softly. He lowers himself to her feet to wash her legs and kiss her ankles. Be gentle with the kind of care that shows adoration. Letting the water cascade down you both as he looks up into your eyes while kneeling before you. Washing away fears of opening your heart.
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Surrender: Bound by Soul Threads
For you, I surrendered.
I took you to my sacred temple,
Allowing myself to come undone
Under your possessive protection.
Letting our souls intertwine
In ways that no one else knows me.
No one has ever had me like you.
That was my choice,
And it wasn’t a choice at all.With you, two things have always been true.
When something’s off,
When our connection gets tainted by fear or others,
Things aren’t aligned,
We both feel that
In our souls,
In the way our bodies move—
A song only we can hear
When the threads of red, gold, and silver
Shimmer into the cord that binds us.
When your guttural nature can’t hide—
That is when you know
My surrender has taken us back
Where we belong. Each other.Now you just have to figure out
How to keep me there.
I am yours to keep,
But I am also yours to lose.
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Painting My Pieces Golden
Reflection of the year that has passed: I can close this era of my life with grace and love. My core was shaken. Shadows of my past came for me over and over. Health failures, uncertainty, fear, heartache—all took pieces of me. Diving deeper into who I am, my grounding force. Collecting my horcruxes, I reemerge as something new. My pieces are painted golden as I pour my heart and soul into my art. I give myself permission to be honest with myself, even if I do it alone. Fighting my demons, terrified of being alone, never knowing if I will ever experience love in its true form. Becoming their friend as I learn my love is rare, and so I give it to myself. This era of lessons, heartbreak, and brokenness is closing. I will step into unknown waters to start the age of being Sue Ellen—who I always was under the lifetime of pain. It didn’t matter what happened, who hurt me. Who I am, was, and will always be—love.
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The Art of Rewriting the Script
The story ends the same, but the antagonist has changed over the years. Our protagonist starts out being the sister of the best friend, hidden in plain sight, but must lurk in shadows. Her first lesson of worth, disguised as thrill. Boys parading in and out, in awe of this sparkling star, only to look at a different horizon. False saviors selling stories of love and desire. Talking of building and loyal branding. A tale as old as time. Lust and conquest were truly the objective. Yeah, the antagonist changed over the years, but our protagonist became a pawn while standing in the Queen position. The narrative shifted. Her dream forming, and so she became her own writer. Now a new story line begins.
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Unyielding: A Mother’s Love
I didn’t want to be strong today. The familiar tone of a doctor when news was coming. Knowing that whatever is being said, you must listen and not react. Seeing my baby on the table, unaware what this means. She isn’t 8 months old anymore—this time she’s closer to 15 years old. Words, words you didn’t ever expect to hear again. Failure to thrive. I didn’t want to be strong. The shadows of our past coming to have another shot at us. To try and take my baby girl. Blood work, possible spinal issues, stunted growth, implications of long term damage. As if autism and other medical issues haven’t stolen enough. I didn’t want to be strong, but for her I was.
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Reflections Of My Legacy
I’m the girl you can’t stop thinking about. Long after you made choices that lost me, you’re left wondering if I’m happy, what I’m up to?! Did she change or is she still that little firecracker? I’m the one you may nestle next to someone else and think about what life would have looked like. It’s not conceit, it’s evidence. A lifetime of men that span back from days before I even became a woman. They reach out to reminisce, catch up, and at some point, still confess feelings for me. Every single man I’ve had a real connection or relationship with, they all have this something about me I can’t let go of. That is my magic. My light. My essence of life and passion and joy and laughter. When they see me, the shift in their eyes from excitement to despair because of the loss of me hits them as the excitement of seeing me smile takes them through a wave of emotions I must witness. Lessons, you were all my lessons. The ones I never wanted and still had to endure. Tears for the one I never wanted to be nothing to are tucked away like the imperfect side of a Christmas tree. You got the life you chose, and I get to wait for the one who chooses me.
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Reflection Of A Faded Light
I spent so much time in my own world. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to realize that you would never show up. I would only be given fragments. The light that once surrounded who we should have been is as cold and dark as a winter night. I don’t know if it was ego or my emotional attachment to what I saw so clearly and felt in my heart. I struggle with letting go. I know what it looks like. I will wrap it up neatly, put it in a box, and send it off. I may think about it from time to time, but I won’t want any version of it around to linger. The only thing that will remain is the memories and lessons. You will become part of my growth and nothing more.
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Fragile Honesty
Today, I didn’t feel strong. Tears came to me while I was driving in the car and on the field. Be gentle with myself – a silent reminder that I must listen to my heart. My legs felt shaky. I let the music take over, and time slipped by. Lying on the grass, I rolled over and smelled it. You. I think of you. The smell of grass, the field, the music that shuffled – the voice that always gives me the push I need. I didn’t feel strong, and somehow being fragile felt more honest.
Ink Stained Soul... 